


in ten hours time

by itisjosh



Series: onlypain [44]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Bittersweet, Card Games, Character Death, Developing Friendships, First Meetings, Friendship, Gen, Goodbyes, Heavy Angst, Humor, Mercy Killing, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Sad Ending, Zombies, sorry dnf shippers its platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28975851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itisjosh/pseuds/itisjosh
Summary: "I'm not going to lie to you. I've been bit. But before you don't let me in or shoot me or whatever, uh, hear me out, right?" The man sighs, sounding like he's tired. "It takes ten to twelve hours before someone turns."He's been safe here for so long, he's been perfectly fine on his own. He survived because he didn't let people in. George is alive because he stayed on his own, and he's fine with that. He's never needed anyone, anyways.But this man sounds terrified. Reserved, maybe. Behind his words is something like fear, something like terror.George wouldn't want to die alone.So he opens the door.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: onlypain [44]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027711
Comments: 21
Kudos: 175





	in ten hours time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alienu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alienu/gifts).



George stares out of his window, watching as zombies shuffle alongside the road, crammed together. They always move in packs, just like the movies and books said they would. George watches them groan and move, their feet twisted, their legs broken. Some of their necks are turned to the side as they wander, mouths agape as they try to sniff out their next meal, trying to find someone they can bite. George looks away, swallowing back the nervousness that rises up to his throat. Just seeing them makes him uncomfortable, what, with their twisted faces and peeling skin. He sighs, shutting the blinds on his window, blocking out the groaning that rises up from the street, all too loud in his ears. 

He sighs again, turning away from the window, looking towards his kitchen. George reaches over to turn on the radio that rests on his end table, flicking it on, turning the stations until it isn't just static. The government warnings have stopped repeating themselves, going back to their old programmes. Music plays softly from the radio, and he wonders how long ago it was since the apocalypse started. George stopped keeping track after the first week, opting to try and fucking survive instead. Time doesn't matter when hoards of zombies flood the street and want him dead. 

George would consider himself lucky. He hasn't really had to go anywhere for supplies, only making a few trips back up and down the stairs of his apartment complex. He doesn't leave the building at all. There's no reason for him to go anywhere, and there's no way in hell he's leaving to go into the mass of decaying bodies. George isn't _afraid_ of them, per se. He isn't afraid of dying, not anymore. He's watched too many people die, he's killed too many people, to care anymore. George has watched people come up to his building, banging their fists against the door and screaming, begging, to be let in. 

They always get swarmed in seconds. Torn from limb to limb, blood splattering the ground. George threw up the first time he watched it happened. He doesn't watch it happen anymore, but he turns the radio up instead when he hears their cries, blurring out their screaming that follows after. He wonders if that makes him cold, but he pushes away those thoughts a moment later. No, it doesn't. He does what he has to do to survive, and there's no way people expect him to be able to reach them and open the door to let them in. If George were to open that door, he would die. He'd die, and so would the other person.

There's no point in killing two people. 

George taps his fingers along the window edge, having moved back to it. He likes looking outside. If he can pretend like the zombies aren't out there, it's nice. It's nice to pretend, to imagine for half a second that everything is fine. He keeps his window locked and firmly pressed shut, never opening it. George knows that if he did, rotted heads would turn to face him, and then he'd be dead. One zombie wouldn't be enough to break through his barricades on the front and back doors, but an entire hoard would be more than enough to get inside. George has watched them climb before, towering on top of each other, clawing their way to the tops of buildings, scaling up even the tallest of buildings. 

George sways on his feet, gasping when he hears a sharp thud from above him. He reaches for the knife on his belt, pulling it out of its sheath. He sets it on the table, quickly pulling on his gloves, tugging down his sleeves, throwing on his overcoat, the one with padding on the inside. George puffs it up, carefully hiding his neck behind the fabric. He isn't going to be bitten because he refused to be prepared. He picks up his knife, carefully listening to the footsteps that linger above him, echoing too loudly in his head, nearly driving him insane. George stays still, gripping his knife even tighter, running his thumb over the hilt of his blade. 

He pauses, standing a little straighter at the way that the footsteps sound. They're human, full of life and bouncy, almost. They're not from the dead, they're from a living human being. George doesn't let go of the knife, his heart dropping to his chest as he listens to the footsteps get closer and closer to his door. Whoever the person is, they won't have to worry about getting jumped. George killed everyone in this place, he made sure they were dead. He threw their bodies out of their windows, leaving them as distractions. He hears a knock on his door. 

Then another. 

And another. 

"Hey," a man's voice calls out, soft and tired. "You've got some pretty nice defences. Really impressive. Um," the man stops talking, his breathing heavy. "I'm not going to lie to you. I've been bit. But before you don't let me in or shoot me or whatever," he rushes out, and George feels his heart rate spike. Of course, that's why he sounds scared, like he's out of breath. "But, uh, hear me out, right?" The man sighs, sounding like he's tired. "It takes ten to twelve hours before someone turns. I've watched this happen, it never changes. It's a constant. I've been bitten for about.."

A long pause. 

"Thirty-three minutes, twenty-eight seconds. Give or take. I know that this is really fucking awkward and weird, and you probably won't let me in, but I'd like to see someone alive one last time before I die. I'll leave at eight hours if you want. Six, even. I'll leave in ten minutes if that's what you want. I'm just.." another long pause. "I don't want to be alone. Not when I die. I've already accepted that I'll be dead soon, but I don't want to do it alone." 

George closes his eyes, the grip on his knife becoming even stronger. There's no way in fucking hell George should let this man into his home. He's been safe here for so long, he's been perfectly fine on his own. He survived because he didn't let people in. George is alive because he stayed on his own, and he's fine with that. He's never needed anyone, anyways. 

But this man sounds terrified. Reserved, maybe. Behind his words is something like fear, something like terror. 

George wouldn't want to die alone.

So he opens the door. 

The man stands a little straighter in front of him, a stupid grin making its way onto his face. His eyes are pretty, George thinks. "Your name?" George asks, leaning back on his heels, crossing his arms. "I'm George. I'm not letting you in until you tell me your name." The man's grin fades to a smile, and George watches as he rests all of his weight on his right leg. 

"Dream," the man, Dream, smiles. "Sorry for the whole, uh, interrupting your Saturday morning. You know, you did a really good job blocking all of this up. If I hadn't found the fire escape, I'd probably still be out there," he laughs. His laugh is a breathy wheeze, one that makes his eyes crinkle at the sides, laugh lines appearing around his lips. Dream looks like the kind of person who laughs a lot. He looks like the kind of person who laughs at everything, who always finds the good in bad situations. "Thank you," Dream suddenly says, and George frowns. "For letting me in. I know that I wouldn't have done that. Thank you. Really."

George shrugs, turning away from his door. Dream follows, closing it behind him. "I wouldn't want to die alone. I'm just being an okay person. I've watched hundreds of people die trying to get in here," he admits. "I really don't know why I let you in. I guess it's too late, now."

"No," Dream protests. "I'll leave. I'll go up onto the roof and stay there until I die, or just off myself," he laughs. "You don't have to keep me here, George. I'm not going to stay here if you don't want me to. There's no point in that, is there? I want my last moments to not be shit, and if I'm clearly making someone uncomfortable, well," he shrugs. "That's not great to me. But that might just be the morals talking, huh?" George rolls his eyes at the man, sitting down on the floor in front of his sofa and chair. George reaches up onto the table to his side, picking up a deck of cards. 

"Do you like go fish?" He asks, turning to look up at Dream with a smile. "Or are you not good at it?" Dream laughs, moving to sit in front of him. He has armour on, all grey and dark shades of blue. The only thing that sticks out is the stupidly bright yellow, _or green?_ , bandana wrapped around his throat. "How did you get bit?" George asks, frowning at him. His boots go up to his knees, he has gloves on. He's fully protected from everything, he doesn't look stupid, either.

Dream looks away, sighing. "I don't..it was an accident. I thought that someone was calling for help, and I stopped paying attention to what was around me, and then I.." he laughs, ducking his head. Dream rolls up his sleeve, and George stares at the bite marks that are so painfully obvious against Dream's skin. They're red and swollen and angry, and George can't help but bite down on his tongue. "I have one on my leg, too. I got fucked," he laughs, though it isn't humourous at all. "Don't worry, two bites won't speed up my time of dying. I don't know why I didn't just kill myself. I guess it was because I could hear your music. I guess I just wanted to see if someone else was still alive. I guess I didn't want to die alone."

George nods, swallowing back the words he wants to say. 

Dream doesn't look like someone who would let his guard down easily. 

If this happened to him, George thinks that he wouldn't survive a day out in that fucking hellhole of a world. "Tell me about yourself," George looks at him, offering a smile. "Talk about whatever, ask me questions if you want. Might as well spend some time getting to know each other before you die, right? To make it harder for ourselves?" Dream wheezes, grinning at him with bright eyes. "I'll go first. I'm George, twenty-four. I'm colourblind, I'm British, I used to have big plans for myself in life, but then, you know."

"The apocalypse," Dream agrees. "Well, I'm Dream. I'm not colourblind. I'm American, twenty-one. I wanted to be important in life, and then you know the rest," he smiles. "Well, George," Dream motions up to the the clock that ticks away on his wall. "It's nine in the morning. We've got until seven in the evening to get to know each other. Ten more hours until I'm dead, huh? Ten more hours until you shoot me in the head, or I leave this place."

George rolls his eyes. "I guess we'll have to get used to playing go fish for ten hours, then. For reference, I'm going to win all of these games. I'm good at card games." Dream smiles, and George can tell that he's noticed how George avoided the mention of death. George doesn't want to kill Dream before he turns into a zombie, but he isn't going to let the man turn in his fucking apartment. There's no way in hell Dream is going to be given a chance to bite him, no fucking way. 

"I guess we will," Dream agrees, softly. "I never thought this is how I'd spend my time dying," he admits. "I figured it'd be because of cancer, or something. That I'd be surrounded by friends and family. That I'd die easily, that I wouldn't have to worry," he sighs, and George does the same, staring at the cards in his hands. He picks at the corners of the cards, peeling the paper. "It's kind of funny, how fast things change. But this isn't really the best joke I've heard," Dream laughs. "Never thought I'd die like this." 

"I don't think anyone thinks that this is how they'd die," George smiles. "I feel like zombie apocalypse death is pretty low on the list. Compared to, like, cancer. Or liver failure, or heart disease, or..anything else. Getting bit by another person and dying because of it doesn't really sound all that real, huh?" 

Dream grins at him, reaching out to take a few cards from his hands. "Agreed. So, best out of five?"

George smiles back.

"Best out of ten."

* * *

"So my best friend's name was Sapnap, and he was a fucking prick," Dream rambles on. "He constantly was bringing two guys home, and I wasn't judging! But when I went into his room once, they were literally just playing Minecraft, on the same computer, and screaming. Quackity and Karl," Dream smiles, looking fond. "I don't know what happened to them, but Sapnap wasn't in our apartment when the whole, you know, happened. They were all really smart, but so was I," he gestures to his arm, down to his leg. "Maybe I was just lucky."

George shrugs, looking down at his cards. Dream didn't know how to play go fish, so he had to teach the man how to play, which took way longer than it should have. Dream's smart, really, but he's also fucking stupid. George smiles, shuffling through his cards, picking at their corners. "I don't know. I doubt I'd survive out there," he admits. "I've gotten too used to being up here. If I was suddenly thrown out there, I really don't think I'd make it for long." Dream gives him a half shrug, staring down at his own cards.

"I think you'd do okay. There's no other zombies in here, right?" Dream asks. "You killed them all. I think you'd be fine, George, really. Any sevens?" He asks, tilting his head to the side. George smiles, raising both of his eyebrows. Dream swears under his breath, looking away with a soft smile that's barely noticeable. "Fuck. How are you so good at this, you lucky fucker?" Dream wheezes, crossing his arms, keeping his cards close to his chest. "Do you just have one number, like..are they all ones? Any ones, George?" 

"You can't ask that right away," George reminds him, grinning. "Any fives, Dream?" Dream looks at him. He looks down at his cards. He looks back at George. "Dream. Give me your fives. Put them down. Give me the fives, Dream. You can't run from this forever, Dream. I'm gonna get those fives, Dream."

Dream sighs, throwing his head back and groaning as he throws two of his cards down, snapping his head back down with another groan. "You suck!" Dream laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. "I can't believe you got that- how do you do that? How? There's no way that that's just luck. You're cheating, George, you have to be!" Dream jabs a finger at him, playfully narrowing his eyes. "You're such a fucking cheater, Gogy." 

"I'm not, I'm not!" George laughs, holding up his hands in mock defence. "You're just a shitty loser!" He grins, pulling Dream's cards over to him. "You're just bad, Dream, get used to it. You're not gonna be good at everything you do, and that's perfectly fine," George pauses, his grin getting a little wider. "Well, I _guess_ it's fine. If you wanna be a boring loser." Dream glares at him, though his grin remains, unwavering and strong. 

"Anyways, like I was saying. Did you have anyone you knew before the apocalypse? Or were you just a hermit, George? Did you just live up here for twenty-four years, alone?" George rolls his eyes, looking up at the clock. 

_10:28 AM._

"Of course I had people," George shrugs. "Ponk and Punz used to be my roommates, a long time ago. I don't know where they are, or if they're alive or not, but they were my friends. They were really nice, and I sort of.." he sighs. "I miss them. But, uh, I try not to think about it. I try to not think about what happened to them. It's easier to pretend like I'm the last person alive, that I'm the only person around. I had this guy, this uh, this friend," George laughs, ducking his head. "His name was Wilbur. He was a really tall fucking musician, and he was really, really sweet."

"Yeah?" Dream leans forwards, raising his eyebrows to his hairline. He has a tight, smug smile on his face, and George wonders why. _Oh_. The pieces click together a second later, and he laughs, reaching out to shove Dream back.

"Not like that, you fucking perv', Jesus. No, he was just a really good friend. He tried to teach me how to play guitar, but I just kept breaking his strings, and I felt bad, so I stopped asking. He made a lot of really good music, and I..sometimes I look out into the streets and try to spot him out. He's really, really smart. Or he was, at least. I hope that he's still alive. Wilbur deserved a hell of a lot better than this life." 

Dream smiles, sadly. "Sapnap did, too. It's just..sad, you know? To think that your friends are probably dead, to think that the people you loved are gone. And it sucks, because they might not even be _gone_. They could be down there," he gestures over to the outside wall. "Walking, shuffling. Being dead, but not really. If I ever saw one of my friends like that, if I saw them as zombies," Dream shakes his head. "I'd kill them. I'd shoot them. But, uh.." he laughs, ducking his head. "Not gonna happen anymore, huh? I'll be dead, just like them."

George smiles back at him, running a hand through his hair. "I'll kill you," George assures him. "I won't let you walk around until you start not looking like a human. Promise." Dream grins, laughing as he ducks his head again. His eyes are soft, a little less sad. 

"Thanks, George. That's oh-so kind of you."

"Oh, fuck off," George laughs, setting his cards down. "Do you..want to make this day, like, normal?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. "I haven't had breakfast yet, and I don't think you have, either. We've got time. Let's be normal, Dream. Let's pretend like this day is just like every other day." 

Dream laughs, pushing himself off of the ground, offering George a hand. "I'm glad that you're the stranger that I got, George. I think you're probably the best person I could have asked to spend my last moments with."

"Probably not," George shrugs. "I'm just trying to be a good person for the first time since this world went to shit. I might as well help the dying guy have a good day."

"The dying guy appreciates it," Dream assures him, looking a little less sad. "He really does." 

* * *

"Your measuring methods are weird as fuck, dude." 

George closes his eyes, sighing as he holds the bowl in his hands. "And you're a fucking idiot," George points out, setting the bowl down on the counter. "The bacon is burning, dumbfuck. You're going to set my goddamn place on fire, you asshole," Dream laughs, bumping him with his hip. "Do _not_. You don't have the right to do that to me, not after you called _my_ measuring methods weird." 

"Oh, is Gogy angry?" Dream giggles, bumping him again. "Come on, now. You know that I didn't mean it. I'd never insult you, promise. Why would I ever do that to the love of my life, George? I would never. I'm a very sweet person. I'm very kind and humble and caring," Dream rambles on and on, listing off words that George would never use to describe him. "You just don't know me well enough. But, luckily for you," Dream grins, "we've got as couple of hours to get to know each other. If you know what I mean."

"Die."

Dream's grin widens. "Already doing that, George."

George sighs, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling. "You are so unbelievably annoying."

"It's a learnt skill, yeah," Dream agrees. "I feel like these homemade pancakes just are not going well for you," Dream laughs. "Have you ever thought about just, ordering in?" George slowly turns to face him, narrowing his eyes and his impromptu roommate. "Okay, okay!" Dream wheezes, nearly doubling over. "Sorry, sorry! Listen, it was funnier in my head. Come on, give the dying guy some laughs, yeah?" 

"No."

"Okay, ow," Dream grins. "Come on, Gogy. We've only got, like, eight hours left. I'm out here dying, and you won't even humour me? That really hurts my feelings, George. I think I may or may not cry."

"Good, it's what you deserve," George can't help but laugh, nudging Dream back with his own hip. "You're so annoying, Dream. You're so fucking annoying."

"But I make up for it by being cute," Dream grins. "Right, George? Right, I'm cute, right?" George stares at him. "Please?" Dream wheezes, his eyes crinkling at the sides. "Please, George? Say it to the dying man, please? Please tell me I'm cute, George. Please? Please?" Dream's eyes are pleading, they're nearly convincing. 

Nearly.

"No," George repeats, flipping him off as he grabs a wooden spoon from the counter. "You're not cute, not at all. You're not cute, Dream. Stop looking at me like that. I'm not going to tell you you're cute," Dream pouts, his bottom lip trembling. "If you start to cry, I'm going to throw you out of this apartment via the fucking window, you absolute nightmare." 

Dream laughs, clapping his hands together. "Okay, okay. You're so rude, you're so _mean_ to me. It hurts my feelings, George. You hurt my feelings." 

George smiles, and he can't help but feel his chest hurt. He looks up at the clock, staring at the time. _12:47 PM._

In the few hours that he's known Dream, George can't help but feel like they're friends. Like Dream has become someone who he wants to spend time with. Dream feels like his friend, he feels like someone he's known forever. George blinks, swallowing back the words he wants to say. He doesn't want Dream to die, and he doesn't even understand why. Maybe it's because he's finally not alone. 

Maybe it's because, he thinks, in a different world, they could have spent their lives together. 

Maybe they could be been more than just friends. 

Maybe they would be okay. 

"Hey," Dream nudges him with his elbow. "Hey, don't look like that. You're gonna get wrinkles from how hard you're thinking, George. Come on," Dream smiles at him, entirely gentle, hiding nothing. "I'm the one dying, George. Stop looking like you're dying, too." 

"I'm.." George sighs. "Let's just..make pancakes."

"Okay," Dream nods. "Okay." 

* * *

Dream has green eyes and freckles and tan skin. 

The bandana around his neck is also green. 

Green suits him well.

George wonders if Dream can tell that he's upset. "I probably shouldn't have let you into my house." George says, picking at his pancakes. They're burnt. Dream forgot to flip them, he burnt both sides. The bacon is also burnt, the eggs are runny, and it's a shit breakfast. But George still eats it, he still shovels it into his mouth. They had fun making breakfast, George thinks. He can't remember the last time he had fun cooking. Dream makes things easier, he makes things less boring. Less normal. 

"Probably not," Dream agrees. "Sorry." 

"Don't be," George shrugs, heaving a sigh as he stares down at his eggs. "I figured it'd be easy to let a dying guy into my house. That's my fault." 

"You got attached?" Dream asks. George looks up, glaring at him, even though he shouldn't. "Sorry. I'm sorry. We probably shouldn't have talked, huh?" Dream laughs, running his hands through his hair. "I probably should've just stayed quiet. Maybe you shouldn't have let me in." 

George closes his eyes. "I don't know. I think I got so used to being alone, that when you showed up.." he sighs. "You know."

"I do," Dream assures him. "I'm sorry." 

"Stop saying that," George laughs, bitterly. "Not your fault. Is it still too late to amputate?" He asks. "To get rid of the arm and the leg that were bitten? Or is it too late? Is there no way to do that anymore?" 

Dream smiles. "George, we'd have to amputate within three minutes of me being bit. Thirty seconds would be optimal. It's been almost three, four, hours. There's no way in hell that I'll live from this. If you want," Dream sets his plate down, standing up. "I can go. I can leave, right now. You won't have to deal with me ever again, and I'll go and die outside," Dream laughs. "I'll walk into the hoard and see if they'll kill me or not. How's that sound? I can- I can leave. I've imposed a lot, huh?"

George shakes his head, standing up along with Dream. He moves forwards, opening his arms. Dream looks at him for a few seconds, blinking. "I don't want you to go," George pulls Dream in for a hug, since the dumbass isn't doing it himself. "I think we're friends now, and I'm pissed at you for doing that to me. You're going to leave, you're going to die. And I don't want you to. I want you to stay here, and I want to make fun of you and play go fish and make breakfast with you. I want to watch you burn the eggs and the bacon and complain when you almost set the stove on fire. I want you to call me a cheater for winning card games."

"I'd like that, too," Dream murmurs into the side of his neck. "I'd like to spend my life with you. I'd like to spend my life with you without the idea of me dying hanging over our heads. I think that we'd..we'd be close. I think we'd do really well together, George. I don't want to die," he whispers. "I don't want to die. I'm scared of dying. I laugh about it, and I- I make jokes, but I don't want to go. I don't want to. I'm scared," he laughs, sounding like he's about to cry. "I don't want to die, George. I'm so fucking scared."

"I know," George whispers back. "I know. It'll be okay. I- I promise, it'll be alright. It won't last long." 

Dream nods, pulling back. "Thank you, George. Feel free to push my body out of the window. No need to bury me under the floorboards."

George pulls him back, blinking back tears. "Shut up. Just..shut up."

And he does. 

George holds him, he lets himself get held back, for too long. Their time is wasting, their time is going down. 

He looks past Dream's shoulder, staring at the clock. 

_3:02 PM._

Four hours left.

* * *

_6:20 PM._

"I've got like, thirty minutes left, George. I think shooting me would just be a good idea," Dream laughs, ducking his head. "I feel like you should shoot me now, George." 

George holds the gun in his hands, shifting on his feet. "I don't want to." 

"That.." Dream wheezes turning around to face him. "George, you have to. Once I die, if you don't shoot me fast enough, I _will_ bite you. And I don't know you well enough to know if you've got, like, ST-"

"Don't," George shakes his head, frowning. He wishes he could smile, he wishes he could laugh at Dream's stupid fucking jokes, but he can't. "Dream, this is serious. You..wormed your way into my fucking heart, you- you _asshole_ ," George shakes his head, the weight of the gun too distracting, too heavy. "I wish I didn't let you in. I wish I..you're going to leave me all alone again. I was supposed to.."

"I'm sorry," Dream offers him the saddest smile that George has ever seen. "I really shouldn't have knocked," he looks away. "But I guess it's too late to restart, huh?" Dream smiles, ducking his head. "I just..you know?" He laughs. "What kind of goodbye would be the easiest?"

"None," George shakes his head. "I don't like that word, don't say the- don't say goodbye. I don't want to listen to it. You'll make me cry."

Dream laughs, but George doesn't know why. He was being serious. 

"Okay," he smiles. "George. It's six thirty. I- George, seriously. You need to shoot me," Dream steps back, holding up his hands, his back hitting the wall. "George. When I showed up, I had already been bit for about thirty minutes. George- _George_ ," Dream shakes his head, looking terrified. "George, please. Please, please just- just shoot me." 

George shakes his head, feeling a tear slide down the side of his face. "I don't.." he swallows, raising the gun to his shoulder, breathing out. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Dream laughs, putting his hands down to his sides. "We both knew this was how it was going to end." 

"Yeah," he agrees in a whisper. "I wish I..I wish we knew each other. Before this. Before the apocalypse. I'm sorry, Dream. I'm sorry." 

Dream smiles, reaching up to wipe away his tears. 

"It was really nice knowing you, George. These were the best ten hours of my life." 

George closes his eyes for half a second, blinking them open again. The green in Dream's eyes is starting to fade. Dream seems to realise that, too. He looks terrified. 

George is terrified. 

He pulls the trigger. 

"They were the best ten hours of mine," George chokes on a sob, collapsing to his knees. "Thank you."

_6:59 PM._

"Thank you for the best ten hours of my life, Dream."


End file.
